


A Moment of Grace

by Guede



Series: Ghost Quest, Inc. [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Families of Choice, Humor, M/M, Meet the Family, Polyamory, awkward family dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iker accidentally ends up taking Victor to dinner with the pseudo-family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Grace

Iker burrowed his head into warm skin and cotton, trying not to hear those damn noises. It was sort of working aside from him not being able to breathe, but then the body he was using as a sound buffer moved on him. He tried to pull it back and it elbowed him in the ribs. So he shoved it away, then dragged his head out and clawed up over the top of Victor while the other man was still trying to turn himself towards the wrong side of the bed. Yeah, the nightstand was over there, but Iker actually remembered where their clothes had gone.

Victor was still trying to buck Iker off, so Iker didn’t have time to really see what he was doing. He just shoved his hand down, dug around till he hit something phone-shaped, and pulled it up while rolling off the other man. “Jesus Christ, what the hell?” he said.

At first Iker wasn’t sure that he’d actually hit the ‘answer’ button before he’d spoken, since he didn’t hear a damn thing. He pulled the phone away from his ear, checked—he had—and then put it back to his ear.

*…oh,* said a soft little voice, right before Iker would’ve hung up. *Iker? Um.*

“Oh, hi, Andrés.” Iker put his head back in the bed. It was heavy and the bed was there and he shouldn’t be up yet. “You want Victor, right?”

The ball of Victor’s foot prodded at Iker’s back. “Who is it?” Victor asked. He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he should’ve been. “Oh. Oh, wait a—huh?”

*…is he there?* If Iniesta got any quieter, Iker would have to hook the mobile up to a boombox to hear him.

“Let me check.” Too early, said Iker’s body. Not Iniesta’s fault, reminded the tiny part of Iker’s brain that somehow still felt like being a good guy. After a last, grudging moment, Iker pushed himself around. He saw the back of Victor’s tousled head hanging down, like Victor was still trying to search that side of the bed, and reached out to smack at the other man. “Hey.”

Victor kicked Iker again, then twisted around and grumpily held something out to Iker. “It’s for—”

“It’s for—” Iker said, mouth one step faster than his brain.

Then they both stared at the two phones. Iker really, honestly could’ve sworn that he had remembered to leave his pants in the bathroom. But if he hadn’t, then had that thing with the membrillo and the rug really—

Victor tossed Iker’s phone on the bed and grabbed his phone from Iker’s hand, and then shoved his face into the curl of his other arm. He started absently tugging at his hair. “Andrés?” he mumbled. His one visible ear started to redden. “Sorry. I—no, actually, we weren’t—yeah, still a dick—yeah, sorry.”

“Didn’t mind the dick part last night,” Iker snorted, picking up his phone. He turned his shoulder into Victor’s half-hearted blow. “Oh, my God, who the hell is calling me this early?”

*Iker, you have a shift as a campus guide in half an hour.* Hierro didn’t sound irritated. He didn’t even sound resigned. He just talked like it was a given that Iker was going to freeze up, accidentally bite his tongue when his jaws clamped shut, and then spasm himself off the bed. After a pause for the thud, Hierro finally indulged in a small but deeply-felt sigh. *You do remember that this group is exclusive to children of alumni, and therefore deserves to see the best of this institution, don’t you?*

Iker muttered something about the best of the institution into his hand and climbed back onto the bed.

*Also, while I have you on, I just wanted to let you know that we’re going to hold a little dinner at Raúl’s house next Saturday,* Hierro said in exactly the same tone. Dry yet expectant, never even entertaining the thought that Iker would disagree with the importance of the message. *It’s a little celebration in honor of Raúl’s movie deal. I think it’d be nice if you could come, and of course Victor is also invited. All right?*

“All right,” Iker muttered. Then his veins filled with ice-water. He threw up his head and stared at the phone in horror, then scrambled to get it back to his ear. “Wait, wait a minute—what the hell—dinner?”

The phone slipped away from him and he barely hooked it with two nails before it squirted out over the bed’s edge and onto the floor. He slammed it back to his ear, still begging Hierro to say that again, only to hear an ominous silence. But he just didn’t want to admit it, and kept going for a few more seconds before even he couldn’t keep up the hope that Hierro was just too disgusted to reply. His voice petered out and then his strength, so that his arm slowly, unevenly, dropped back to the mattress. The phone gleamed in his hand, black and unholy, like some awful omen of doom.

“Casillas.” Victor poked at Iker’s shoulder, then gave that a hard shake. “Iker. Iker, you’re freaking me out. Stop it.”

“I can’t,” Iker finally managed to say.

“The hell does that mean? Do you actually _want_ me to lose my shit?” Victor crawled up by Iker and craned his head so that he could insert it between Iker and the phone. He looked equal parts concerned and rattled. “Iker, god _damn_ it. What is it?”

Iker pursed his lips together a few times. Pulled at his hair. And then he finally looked at Victor. Sure, the man had his issues, but he was aware of them, which was more than Iker could say for a lot of people. And he also had enough balls to chase after a murderous ghost to save Iker’s ass, not to mention having a great one of his own, and…and damn it, but Iker really had been enjoying their time together. “You’re…kind of coming to dinner.”

Blank face. “What? Where?”

“Raúl’s,” Iker said.

“Oh, again?” Still obviously confused, Victor jerked his shoulders a couple times, then flopped down by Iker. He let a deep breath out, then narrowed his eyes and started examining something on Iker’s arm. When Iker yanked that away, Victor rolled his eyes. “You’re such an asshole, you know. Getting me nervous like that, when it wasn’t _that_ bad. And stop acting like this is so bad, too. I’ve scraped myself worse falling off my bike.”

What the—oh, so the membrillo thing had happened. Good to know, Iker thought distantly. “No, it’s not like…like Raúl needs to feed somebody leftovers and Mori doesn’t want them and Villa’s stuck on night-shift. It’s like…you’re _coming_ over, okay? Hierro said so.”

Victor laid where he was and looked up at Iker for a little while. His brows twitched a few times, but otherwise his face didn’t move. He was hard to read like that, even though it was clear that there was a lot going on inside. But none of it was close enough to the surface to tell Iker what it was, and it almost would’ve been easier if Iker couldn’t tell that anything was there. Then he wouldn’t feel as if he had to do something about it.

“Oh,” Victor finally said. He blinked slowly. “Okay. Dinner. Okay, then.”

* * *

“It’s not okay!” Iker kicked a pebble off the step and then didn’t feel bad at all when it hit the railing, even when Mori glared at him. And like Mori usually cared whether paint got chipped or not. The house was a goddamn historical monument anyway and a little wear and tear would fit with the vintage air. “It’s—finals are just around the corner, and this isn’t even about Raúl, and he does deserve something special. But nooo, Hierro has to go and turn this into all about my fucking sex life.”

Mori took a moment out of his glaring to rub his hand over his face, either like his head hurt or like he was trying not to laugh in front of Iker. Then he pulled his head up and looked at Iker. Laughing, definitely laughing. “Well, you did go and ditch us for the last Real game.”

“I didn’t _ditch_ you. Oh, my God.” For a second Iker just stared at Mori. Then he threw up his hands and threw the rest of himself down on the front step. “It was away, for God’s sake. And raining like hell out. There was a university-wide email that nobody should go out if they could help it—which _Hierro_ sent.”

“So instead you stayed over at Valdés’ place and watched the game there,” Mori said. Calmly. Without accusation. Annoying as hell, and even more annoyingly, he had a point. “Iker, if you want my honest opinion, I think Hierro’s just a little worried. Just get through dinner and make him feel better, and it’ll be over.”

Iker hunched over and scrubbed at the side of his jaw with one fist. He spotted another stone on the front walk and poked it with his toe. “You know, it wasn’t even that great. Victor was a total ass, and Xavi was there too but he told me I deserved it for all the times I was—isn’t it two wrongs don’t make a right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Mori leaned against the railing. He examined his hand, then frowned up at the porch’s roof. Then he reached up and fiddled with some nail sticking out of the roof.

“Just what is Hierro worried about?” Iker muttered after another moment. “It’s not like I’m gonna turn into a Barça fan. I mean, Jesus, we didn’t even screw afterward because he was such an asshole.”

“Iker. It’s not _actually_ about your sex life,” Mori said, sounding faintly uncomfortable. He shifted against the railing, then tapped Iker on the shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to pry, but—”

If Iker got Mori mad at him, he’d lose the only person willing to sneak him out of the house if it went—well, it was already bad but if it went pear-shaped. Villa would probably laugh his head off, Silva had stopped being reliable around the time he started dating Villa, and Raúl would consider it a debt. And he’d totally call it in the next time he needed somebody to go save Villa from the admin but didn’t want to look like he was pulling strings himself. “We’re fine. We yelled at each other, and then I went for a walk anyway in the fucking rain and when I came back, it was okay. But I was a mess from getting blown into some fucking bush and it was late, so we went to bed and just screwed in the morning.”

“I didn’t say I wanted the details,” Mori snorted. But in an affectionate, relieved way, and he so had. He was just as big a gossip as anyone else, and why he kept trying to pretend he was above it was beyond Iker. It wasn’t like it really impressed Raúl, who just disapproved of tellers. God knew the man had no problem with listening. “Well, good. I’m glad, because he seems…”

“Do we have to go there?” Iker said. He wasn’t whining. He was just really tired of spending a week freaking out over something that shouldn’t even come up in normal people’s lives, ever. The last thing he needed was one of _those_ talks.

“No.” Mori went back to picking at the roof, muttering something about yet another repair. If he didn’t want to put up with it, he shouldn’t live in an ongoing restoration project.

If Iker really, really didn’t want to do this, he could walk away. Hell, he could’ve called Hierro up or come by the man’s office any time during the week and told Hierro he didn’t feel comfortable with it. And that would’ve been it, end of story, no questions asked from Hierro, and so why Iker hadn’t was…was the next-to-last thing Iker didn’t need on his mind right now. Damn it. He was too good of a guy sometimes.

“He’s just doing this because he doesn’t want to straight up ask me, because then I might give him details,” Iker said.

“Yep. Listen, I’ve got to go check on the oven, but if you see Villa, kick him my way, all right?” After a vague ruffle at Iker’s hair, Mori wandered back inside.

Iker snorted but stayed where he was, staring out across the lawn. He absently ran a couple fingers through his hair to reorder it, then pulled at one shoulder. Then he kicked another rock. God, this was going to be a long day.

The sound of a car pulling up made him grudgingly raise his head. Then he blinked a few times. He’d thought…but yeah, it was a little early for Hierro to be showing. Raúl wasn’t even home yet, and those two were probably coming in together. And anyway, that was Cesc’s car, and…and Victor twitched before he’d even gotten out. Then again as he came up the walk, sticking his chin out first as if he was going to flatten whatever Iker was thinking with it.

He stopped about a meter short, and he and Iker stared at each other. In the background somewhere, Cesc and Xavi were chatting, and then Xavi was making Cesc leave despite the other man’s moans that he was always missing the action lately. “Hi,” Iker said.

“I asked you fifteen times what it’d be like, but you kept ignoring me. But I’m not going to embarrass anybody,” Victor said, with an extra up-jerk of his chin.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m not making fun of you.” Okay, it took Iker a moment to pick up on the danger signs. He should be better than that. He _was_ better than that, but he just…he got up before Victor could work himself into a fit of defensive nastiness, and his hand sort of meandered out to tug at the man’s tie. “It’s not black.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. He studied Iker’s face with the kind of intensity he normally saved for people trying to touch his bike without his permission, and then he blinked hard. His shoulders dropped a little, then hunched up again, but not in quite the same protective position. “I asked Andrés and he said I’d look like I was going to a funeral if I did that.”

Lucky funeral, Iker’s mind thought inanely. Most of it was still taking in the suit, which fit right _all over_ , so it was kind of understandable. To anyone who appreciated how some clothes could make you really appreciate the effort needed to take them off, and hey, that was a silk shirt under there. Nice. “If Andrés didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d wonder about him dressing you up.”

A flush was starting up from Victor’s collar, and so was a spark of irritation at the teasing, but Victor wasn’t exactly shoving Iker’s hand away. “Do you always—”

“Hey, Iker,” Xavi interrupted, coming up behind Victor’s right. He thrust something long and thin and wrapped in clear plastic into Iker’s hand, then caught himself against the railing and blew out a long breath. “Shit. Wow, sorry, I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I called Silva and he said Raúl had already picked up Hierro, and didn’t think I was going to beat them.”

“Oh, thanks,” Iker said. Automatic, not even looking at whatever the hell it was, because that was just what he did whenever Xavi told him he’d just saved Iker’s ass. Because usually Xavi _did_ , but this time Xavi had just handed him—clothes hanger. Iker yanked up the plastic, then pulled the hanger completely out of its covering and looked at the clothes on it. Then at Xavi. Then at the…okay. “I don’t think it’s actually that formal.”

Xavi rolled his eyes. “Because you’ve spent the whole time freaking out about it and ignoring every sign that it is, and put on the fucking jacket and tie, Casillas. I didn’t just make Cesc drive me across campus so you can spend another fucking week moaning about how you fucked it up.”

Iker opened his mouth, then shut it. He pursed his lips a few times, swallowed a sigh, and finally made himself look down. Okay, he had a sweater on, but he had a buttondown on under that and it would work. It probably wouldn’t look quite as good as Victor, but…and come to think about that.

“Never mind,” Victor said blandly when Iker looked at him. “Got no problem with Xavi ordering you around.”

“Don’t bitch,” Xavi told Iker. “Give me your fucking sweater already. They’ve got to be only a couple minutes away.”

One eye-roll. Which Xavi couldn’t see anyway because Iker’s sweater was up around his face by then, and even if he could, Iker thought he should get that much. Then Iker tossed the sweater to Xavi—grimacing at the wrinkles in his shirt—and pulled on the suit-jacket. He started to sling the tie around his neck, then looked at Xavi again. “Every sign?”

“Mori sent Villa over to tell you Hierro had invited a couple guests so it wasn’t just like, a family and friends thing,” Xavi sighed. He watched Iker loop the tie around one hand. “I’m guessing you thought Villa was just there to bug you again?”

“Well, he kept going off about not groping Victor in public—” yet another blush from Victor that had Iker’s mouth feeling all strained because he wanted to smirk but he was also still pissed off “—and I just like, had my arm around Victor, and anyway like he and Silva aren’t always going at it—”

“I think that’s more Silva, to be honest,” Victor said. Still red. Okay, and it had been a hand in Victor’s back pocket, but it wasn’t like anyone else had been complaining.

“—and Mori was just out here. Why the hell didn’t he tell me himself?” Iker finished.

Xavi shrugged in such a way that his gaze trailed down to the pretty gift bag in his hand. He looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Victor, who went up the step past Iker just as Iker gave Xavi the empty coat-hanger. “I got the wine too,” Victor said. “That’s what, three dinners you owe me now?”

“Hey, I cooked last week,” Iker muttered. He started to turn, then stopped himself and gave Xavi a quick hug and a rushed thanks. Not that he was trying to diminish how much he owed Xavi—it _was_ three dinners, because one was going to Xavi—but he’d just seen Raúl’s car coming down the road, and there was no way he could miss Hierro’s silhouette in shotgun. His stomach heaved, then curled up on itself and whimpered for the wine.

Victor stopped just by the door to wait for Iker. His brows went up when Iker leaned in and he was a little stiff under the arm Iker put over his shoulders, but he was smiling a little when Iker swung back. He didn’t shrug off the arm either.

“So you’re gonna stop being nervous now, right?” he said as Iker pulled them through the door. “Because we can’t both be, and I don’t know if I can eat.”

“So you’ll drink the wine and give me an excuse to drive you home.” Iker laughed at the look Victor gave him, but he couldn’t keep it going for too long. They were inside the house now, and Iker could already hear people moving around in other rooms. And the car engine had just died. “Hey…”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Victor shivered a little, then tugged at his tie. “Just make sure this turns out okay, all right?”

Well, Iker couldn’t really answer that. He just did what he could: he set his shoulders, hefted the gift-bag, and went in search of the party.

* * *

“A couple guests” turned out to be Guardiola and a few other professor-friends of Raúl’s, all of whom Iker knew. And Figo, who Iker also knew but who was too busy being amused by the way Villa practically had to be headlocked to hand him any tapas to talk much. Just as well, since much as Iker liked the man, the last time he’d been in town he’d mocked Victor’s leather fixation and then patted Iniesta on the head. Iker was perfectly happy to let Villa try and score points with an exasperated Raúl by withholding the _boquerones_ ; he was considerably less thrilled about the idea of Victor getting into a brawl in front of half the history department. “And also, you’d lose.”

Victor moodily swigged from his wineglass, then grimaced and sipped more politely as Guardiola glanced at them from the other side of the room. “He’s what, ten years older? He looks like he’s in shape, fine, but…”

“Are you really that fucking crazy?” Iker asked. He fiddled with the stem of his own glass. Which was empty and he kind of wished it wasn’t, but he also kind of wanted to not make any dumbass mistakes. Getting drunk now would probably be one. Probably. It did look pretty good, though.

“No. Look, I’m not going—I’m _not_. I’m going to stay right here and pretend that weirdo never called me an urban cowboy. And thought Andrés was underage.” Another professor looked their way and amazingly, Victor mustered up a decent smile for them. Then he went back to mumbling into his wine. “But I’m just saying…if I _did_ …”

“If you did, you do realize the nearest medical help is Villa and Silva, right?” Iker stretched out his arm and snagged them a couple toothpicks of meatballs from a nearby abandoned tray, then bit his in half. He washed it down with the wine and then sighed, looking at Victor’s mulish expression. “I’m serious. First of all, Figo might come off as kind of goofy sometimes, but he can handle himself. Second, it wouldn’t just be him. You fuck with him, you’re bringing down Guardiola on your head too.”

_That_ finally seemed to get through to Victor, since Guardiola was Iniesta’s favorite professor and all that, and Jesus, it was a good thing Iker had more sense than to be jealous of somebody whose hands still got shaky around his long-time girlfriend. Anyway, Victor had stopped looking at Figo like he was sizing up the man for a backyard grave, and Hierro was tapping his glass with a knife. Oh, great, toasts.

The wine and cheese bit was over with soon enough. Thankfully, all Hierro wanted to do was help the history chair give Raúl another little plaque to go with the dusty cabinetful of them he already had, and then they all applauded him, and then they left. Okay, no, not everyone did. Damn it.

“I did tell you dinner, didn’t I?” Hierro said as his hands on Iker’s and Victor’s backs gently, inexorably ushered them into the dining room. “And I’m so sorry for the late notice about the change in plans, but Manolo’s leaving tomorrow and there just wasn’t another good time to present the—”

“No, it’s fine,” Iker muttered. He had hung onto his wineglass, and the moment they were at the table, he went straight for the decanter of red. It was basically just honorary family and Villa left, so…he still wasn’t going to get drunk, but he didn’t see anything wrong with taking the edge off.

“No, sir,” Victor said. Then Iker tuned out a bit, because, well, wine, but when he tuned back in Victor was looking all serious and so was Hierro, and Jesus _Christ_ now what? “I just really appreciate the generosity, sir. I know you didn’t have to invite me too.”

Hierro blinked a few times, like Mori still didn’t sometimes let a ‘yessir’ slip when he was feeling embarrassed. “I don’t think there’s any need for formalities. You’re as welcome as Iker is. As I said, the award was just…added on. Really, I just thought we haven’t all sat down for a nice dinner in a while.”

“I came over for dinner last Wednesday,” Iker said under his breath. He put the decanter down and looked over the layout issue, did some arranging in his head and then pulled Victor around to the other side of the table.

For some reason it wasn’t that easy to make Victor move, and then Victor yanked his arm away and just stood there while Iker sat down. “You know, I was having a conversation.”

“Yeah, and that’s why we needed to grab seats.” Iker pulled out Victor’s chair, then had to lean back as Silva squeezed in between them for some idiotic reason. Like Silva couldn’t put that platter down on the other side of the table, and why the hell was Villa glaring at him?

“Oh,” Victor said. He glanced irritably at Iker, then moved to Iker’s right side so he was going to be sitting to the left of the head of the table, the pain of which Iker had just worked so damn hard to spare him. “Here, I’ll go here, and then you can be by Silva.”

“Thanks.” Villa stalked behind Iker while Iker was still trying to figure out who to tell off. He shot Iker one of those trademark dark looks of his, like he actually had any idea what Iker was ashamed of, and then huffed himself into the chair on Iker’s left. Silva had already seated himself on the last chair on that side, and promptly began to chat away to Villa.

At the same time, Victor sat down on Iker’s right, and Hierro, now deep in discussion with Figo, casually put his hand on the back of the seat at the table’s head. So he and Victor would be right by each other. Iker wondered if he could just take the whole decanter.

“This isn’t so bad,” Victor was saying. He picked up his spoon, turned it in his fingers, and then put it down. Then he looked at Iker. “What? It isn’t. The way you’ve been acting, I thought this was going to be an interrogation or something.”

“Nobody’s said it wouldn’t be.” Iker tipped the glass into his mouth, then paused during the swallow to watch Mori haul in a tray of steaming, delicious food that Iker wasn’t going to be able to enjoy with the state his stomach was in. “Just try not to talk about me.”

Victor flicked another look at Iker, then twisted around like he was going to follow that up with a comment. Then he shut up his mouth, blinked, and abruptly jerked his head back around. A familiar aggravation was stealing over his face, but that suddenly disappeared as he stood up. Iker almost threw out his arm before he realized Victor was just trying to help Mori set out plates.

“No, I’ve got it,” Mori said. “It’s okay, really—no, that one’s got sauce all over the bottom. I don’t want you to get dirty.”

“I think we can probably take off the ties now,” Hierro added, stepping over. He grabbed the plate with the sauce all over it and wiped it down with his napkin before setting it on the table; some sauce got on his fingers and he absently licked it off. “I really didn’t want this to be all formal.”

Then they all looked at Villa, who’d just gasped as if somebody had socked him in the belly. Actually, Villa had just yanked off his tie. He tossed it down on the table and slouched back in his seat, then noticed all the staring. “What?”

“So, Iker, I hear that you went into the ghost-hunting business recently,” Figo said after a moment.

“Um, no.” Iker looked down at his wine. Beside him he could hear Victor shifting uneasily; they were pretty much okay now, but that didn’t mean they wanted to turn that whole clusterfuck into a party story. “It was just this stupid assignment for my narrative film class.”

“Anyway, all that happened was they came over here for a weekend and busted my airbed, so I wouldn’t call that a hunt,” Villa snorted. Then he glowered up at Raúl, who was silently willing him to shut up and God bless Raúl for finally seeing the light. “ _What_? That’s what happened!”

Hierro cleared his throat, then pulled out his chair and sat down. Simple enough motion, but the way he did it, everyone was going to look like idiots if they didn’t follow suit. “Between Iker and Victor and Raúl’s experiences, I was wondering if I should add a ghost tour to the campus,” Hierro said, arranging his arms. “Actually, with the movie coming out, we should do something. If only to keep people from mobbing your house.”

Raúl perked up from his stare-battle with Villa, then handed Guardiola the decanter while raising his brows at Hierro. “Oh, right. I know you mentioned that earlier…”

“I was just thinking that since there are plenty of historical buildings at the university that would fit the description—if one didn’t already know—we could divert some of the publicity. That way the university would benefit, while at the same time you’d be able to keep your privacy,” Hierro explained to the table. He paused for them to finish settling themselves and then for the first round of food to be served. “Also if they do end up filming part here, we could suggest places other than this house to go.”

“It sounds like a good idea for…for here, but…no offense, wouldn’t that just move some of the problems to campus?” From Victor. Victor was talking. To Hierro. Kind of dropping his voice and fidgeting, but he was looking at the man.

“Well, that would definitely have to be considered too, but I think it would be easier to control on campus,” Hierro was replying. To Victor. “For one, we have security, and we have a permit system to control when things can happen. We could schedule filming for when classes aren’t in session, for example.”

Something prodded Iker in the side, and when he glanced over, Villa shoved a bowl at him. “Thanks,” Iker said. He was going to let it go, but then Villa muttered under his breath about Iker’s reflexes and Iker really didn’t care, he really didn’t. He wanted to get back to Victor and Hierro’s conversation. But his temper just wasn’t in the mood to deal with Villa right now. “Do it yourself? I keep hearing you actually had a job cooking, but I never see it.”

Multiple people kicked _Iker_ under the table, while Villa just got all puffed up and red. “Because I only cook for people who fucking pay, Casillas. Not freeloaders.”

Then Villa winced, and right, now they kick the right person. “Oh, so that’s how you figure the rent,” Iker retorted. “I guess it has to be pretty damn good then.”

“ _Iker_ ,” Raúl snapped.

“Guaje, don’t—” Silva said.

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?” Villa snarled. “I pay my fucking share! I still pay it, because I’m not some fucking asshole parasite! I take care of my own shit and don’t need some goddamn sugar daddy!”

Iker opened his mouth, then shut it, and not because Victor was shaking his arm. He stared at Villa. “Your mind is so weird. Where the hell do sugar daddies come in?”

Villa stared back, like Iker was the one who had stepped out of the Twilight Zone. “Just because we fuck doesn’t mean I’m taking advantage of anybody, okay?”

“Huh?” At first Iker just…he still didn’t get it. But Villa was his own brand of certifiable, so Iker was totally comfortable with leaving it at that. And also, not that comfortable even through his haze of irritation and nerves with the feeling of Raúl’s death-stare on him, so he thought he’d better try and stop it. He did know when he was being an ass, after all; he wasn’t blind. Just…frustrated sometimes.

So he was going to actually apologize and everything for the whole scene, except when he looked at Raúl, Raúl _wasn’t_ death-glaring him. Raúl was looking at Villa, and Iker never understood what happened but things made sense all of a sudden.

He jerked back around to look at Villa, who was chewing on his lip and actually looking a bit embarrassed. “Wait, what? You—you two—since _when_?”

“Oh, great,” Silva muttered.

“Look, I…it wasn’t—it’s not like that.” Villa scrunched down in his seat and rubbed at the side of his face. “Well, okay, yeah, it kind of was the first time, but things were fucking crazy and Raúl wanted to get drunk with a head injury, the moron, and we just—”

“But you’re seeing Silva!” Iker said. His voice kind of cracked. He knocked his arm into something and didn’t realize it was the table, or that he’d lost his wineglass, till Victor cursed behind him and grabbed the glass away before it spilled. “Oh, my God, you two are cheating—and you live in the same house!”

“He’s not cheating on Silva,” Mori said.

Iker actually had more to say, and the interruption made him stutter a little. He couldn’t really get why he didn’t just ignore Mori, but something about Mori’s words was…was…how would he know? “How would you know?”

“Well, because he’s in on it too,” Silva sighed. He craned his head around a petrified Villa to look at Iker. “And so am I. We all are. And…um, you didn’t know?”

“How was I supposed to?” Iker managed to squeeze out. It felt like a giant hand had wrapped around his chest and was crushing it like a boa constrictor, waiting for a bit of air to come out of Iker’s lungs and then increasing the pressure. His voice sounded raspy and thin.

“I thought it was in the book,” Guardiola said. He blinked a few times as Iker turned to him, then put out one hand in what he probably thought was a comforting manner. “Admittedly, I already knew some of the backstory, so I might have been reading undercurrents from life that—”

“Iker?” Victor hissed. “Iker, are you all right?”

* * *

“No!” Iker shouted down. “Nobody’s fucking coming up! I’m not ready, goddamn it! And I don’t care if I’m being a brat, I think this _one fucking time_ that I—”

“It’s me and I have beer,” Victor said.

Iker leaned on his arm and stared out over the lawn and thought about it. The view up here was pretty cool, he thought. Though it was on the chilly side tonight, and his suit-jacket wasn’t that thick. And Jesus Christ, he was sitting on Raúl’s roof. “Okay.”

After another moment, Victor warily poked his head through the trapdoor from the attic. He looked around till he found Iker, then lifted his arm so he could hand Iker two beer bottles. Then he started to pull himself through the trapdoor, only to look surprised when Iker offered him a hand up.

“I think the wine’s hitting me,” Iker offered by way of explanation. “Don’t need the beer yet.”

“So I just have to worry about you falling off and breaking your neck?” Victor pulled his legs up onto the roof, then kept a tight grip on the edge of the trapdoor as he looked around.

It really would’ve been pretty difficult to fall off from where they were standing: the space was a flat rectangle about the size of a small bathroom, and some holes at one end showed where there had been a weathervane or maybe a telescope mounted at one point. A wooden railing ran all around the edge, still bright and glossy from a recent paint-job, and anyway, Iker didn’t feel like getting off his ass to go near it.

Eventually Victor let go of the door. He glanced at Iker, who was cracking open the beers, and then wandered up to the railing with his hands in his pockets. He looked over the edge, then walked slowly around the whole space. Took him about a minute. When he was done, he came over and sat down by Iker. He took his beer but didn’t drink it.

“You’re not telling me it wouldn’t have happened if I’d just kept cool about this whole dinner thing,” Iker finally said.

“Yeah, well, you’re already on the fucking roof.” Victor shrugged his shoulders, then grimaced and tugged his tie-knot halfway down his chest. Then he slid two fingers inside his collar and rubbed at his neck.

Iker drank some of his beer, but halfway through the swallow he realized it wasn’t going to help and actually, he didn’t really want it. So he set it down by him, then leaned back on his hands. “So…what happened to Guardiola?”

“Raúl talked Pep into the idea that you were better off not talking it out right now, and Pep went down to keep Figo company in the dining room. Shit, I should’ve brought up something. We didn’t even eat.” Victor put his hand up to his mouth and bit a knuckle, then put his hand down. “Shit.”

He could look kind of cute when he was being neurotic. Shame it usually was a sign that Iker needed to change the subject quick, so Iker could never enjoy it. “’s okay. There’ll be leftovers, we can get those. And without…hearing all the…you know, ninety-nine percent of the time Guardiola’s a great guy, but I never understand why he always has to _explain_. Like, how he found out because Raúl and Villa banged in Raúl’s office, and oh, my God, I can never go in there again.”

“Okay, I know you’re upset,” Victor started carefully. He glanced at Iker, pulling at his collar. “But…isn’t that exaggerating it a little?”

“We don’t know where they did it!” Iker snapped, slicing his hands through the air. Why, he didn’t know, but it just seemed to go with the sudden jerky energy flooding into him. “How am I—I’d be looking at everything, and thinking, maybe—Villa, the images in my _head_ , oh, my _God_.”

The energy went like it had come, and for a moment it was all Iker could do to keep sitting up. Then he made himself take a deep breath, and he felt a little steadier.

“Villa’s not down there either, if it helps,” Victor said after a moment. He offered Iker a half-smile. “He got his foot in his mouth again and Morientes told him off, and Raúl…sort of _looked_ at him—”

Iker nodded, understanding.

“—and I think they went to go argue it out.” Victor watched Iker for a little bit, then looked away. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault they’re shacking up.” Iker felt another manic burst bubbling up and pressed his lips together till it began to ebb away. Then he started breathing again. He rubbed at his temple, then sighed and looked at the other man. “I’m taking this really badly, aren’t I?”

If Victor had immediately denied that, neither of them would’ve believed him. If he’d confirmed it, Iker would’ve probably lost his temper and gone to…some other roof, or something like that. Somehow Victor figured out that he should just sit there, looking uncomfortable but oddly determined, and eventually Iker would look away.

“I don’t really know any of them that well, so it’s not the same for me,” Victor said. His arm brushed Iker’s, then did it again. Then his hand sort of tiptoed its way up over Iker’s arm and around Iker’s shoulders; he felt more stiff than Iker was when Iker initially leaned back against him. Then he relaxed and let Iker’s head slide up against the side of his neck. “I mean, I know enough about Raúl to kind of go, really? Villa? But that’s just his public reputation, I guess.”

“No, it’s kind of his private one, too,” Iker muttered. He moved his head so the bony part of Victor’s shoulder wasn’t jutting into his jaw. “It’s just…it’s not like, Raúl can’t date Villa if he doesn’t want to. Or set up an alternative lifestyle with three other people. Okay. I’m okay with it. Just…I needed a second. And for Villa to not tell me that shit when I’m trying to eat. That was all. But it’s not really that they’re…together. That’s—different, but hey, I have fifty zillion professors trying to parent me.”

Victor moved a little. He made a couple aborted attempts to clear his throat before he just sighed.

“I’ve been a jackass about that lately too, yeah, I know.” Iker bit the inside of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It was just kind of weird,” Victor finally answered. “Well, at first it was annoying, because I was fucking freaked out too, thanks, but you were flipping out so much I couldn’t even have time for that. But…what the hell is it? I was thinking maybe because you didn’t think Hierro liked me, but I’m not so messed up that I can’t notice he asks me how I am every time he sees me. Which is a lot more these days.”

“Totally on purpose,” Iker muttered. Then he looked up.

The side of Victor’s mouth that he could see was flat and thinned out, but as he watched, it began to twitch. First at the corners, then spreading to the middle, and then Victor finally dropped his chin and laughed quietly. “Andrés thought it was something like, you’d never really cared before, but you really like me so you were nervous.”

“Probably,” Iker agreed. He felt Victor go stiff and looked at the other man again. Then he lifted his head and straightened up. “I _do_ like you, and some day, when you get rid of that black hole where your ego’s supposed to be, you’re going to believe me. But if it makes it easier to believe, it wasn’t just you. It’s not like any of the other times, Hierro was that interested in how the person I was seeing was. I mean, if I’d been a bastard and he’d seen it, he would’ve done something, but he doesn’t just tell everybody I date that he’ll talk to me for them.”

“Oh.” For a while Victor just gazed at everywhere but Iker. The sky, the grass below, the roof…his arm started to slide like he wanted to pull it off, but when Iker moved to help him, he turned back to grab Iker’s arm at the bicep. He looked down at his hand, then slid it down till he got to Iker’s wrist.

After a moment, Iker twisted his hand around and got a couple of Victor’s fingers. They made it kind of complicated, but finally they both sat back with their hands down on the roof.

“You think it was the ghosts?” Victor asked. “He just wants to know if I’m okay, because he feels…well, you know him better.”

“You can say he’s on a guilt trip. You’ve seen that enough times to know that when it comes up.” Then Iker went on to Victor’s actual question. “Yeah, that. But…I think he just likes you, too.”

Victor moved his shoulders and scuffed one of his feet, and generally looked as easy with the compliment as he usually was. But for once he wasn’t protesting it. Then he suddenly grinned, and when Iker cocked a brow at him, threw in a chuckle too. “Does this mean I get the zillion professor fathers now?”

“Hey, take a couple. I can spare them,” Iker said, starting to smile back. Then he looked away. “I do actually…it matters to me, when they like somebody. You know.”

Iker wasn’t really looking for a reply, and Victor was with it enough to not give him one. He just tugged Iker a little closer to him, then muttered a half-hearted curse as a cold breeze wormed across their backs. Then he cocked his head and pulled back his shoulders, suddenly alert. “Hey. If—look, I read the book, and not trying to make you feel bad, but it did have funny vibes between…and if that’s true, then the ghosts in there…”

He and Iker looked at each other, and then Iker nearly bit off his tongue as Victor did his best to jump into Iker’s lap from a sitting position. Thankfully, Victor didn’t quite manage it, but it was a couple seconds before Iker got around him to glower at Silva.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Silva said. He looked chagrined about it, but not nearly enough about sneaking up on them and listening for God knew how long. “Just wanted to check that you hadn’t left.”

“Where?” Iker looked around them. “How?”

Silva stopped bothering to look chagrined. “Well, I don’t know how you got up here in the first place, seeing as I thought we fixed the lock, but anyway, good, you’re okay. Hierro’s been chewing his nails about it, and that’s almost as bad to watch.” He paused, then sank a little so only his head from eyes-up stuck out of the trapdoor. “You are, right? Because none of us…I’m really sorry about how that came out. So is David. He really is. And he’ll say so—”

“When Raúl and Mori are done yelling at him, I guess,” Iker said dryly. He smiled after a moment’s thought. “Yeah, I’m good now. The idea of having two people always bitching him out makes me feel better.”

“Oh, you’re such a jerk, you know,” Silva snorted, making a face at him. “And what do you mean, two? Three.”

Iker raised his brows. “You yell at him? No offense, it’s just when I see you two, you’re not really that…what’s the word…forceful.”

“Well, excuse me, but even Mori doesn’t seem to object when I’m on top.” Then Silva blinked innocently. “TMI?”

“You know, I’d just talked him into a good place, thanks,” Victor said irritably, shoving Silva’s head down. He said a couple other choice things to Silva’s protesting, then leaned back and smacked his hands down his thighs like he was squishing and then scraping off certain people. Then he heaved a deep sigh and looked back at Iker. “Are you going to—look, if you’re going to pull some action movie thing, I just want you to know, I’m coming after you.”

“No, I’m not,” Iker said. He tried not to sound too exasperated himself, since he did appreciate the meaning behind Victor’s clumsy reassurance. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your suit.”

Victor eyed Iker for a moment. His hand went up to pull at his suit-coat, which had gotten rucked up a bit when he’d pushed Silva down, and then he caught himself and looked self-conscious. Self-conscious but kind of amused. “You really like this one.”

“Not that I don’t like the leather one too, but yeah,” Iker added. He reached over and tugged Victor’s coat smooth, and then left his hand there. No objections, so he slid it inside the coat just in case the shirt underneath had gotten rumpled.

Since it was night-time and also, the coat was in the way, Iker couldn’t exactly see if the shirt was rumpled. He had to feel for it, and Victor was helpful enough to turn towards him so that was easier for Iker, and while they were facing each other, they might as well make out. Okay, so Iker was terrible at justifications, but whatever the hell got Victor’s tongue in his mouth.

“Iker!” Hierro. So fucking close to biting off Victor’s tongue there, and Iker so didn’t want that, he really appreciated all of the amazing things that part of Victor’s body could do while it was attached to Victor’s mouth. But Iker needed to see and _thank God_ Hierro hadn’t poked his head through the attic door. He was just yelling at them from the room below. “Iker, come down.”

Iker had one hand up Victor’s coat in the back, scrunching up a fistful of Victor’s shirt that had just finally come loose of the man’s waistband, and had just wrapped his other one over the front of Victor’s waistband. And Victor was, or had been, doing nice things to Iker’s thigh and hip with his hands, and Hierro wanted them to come down.

“I can understand needing some time to adjust,” Hierro went on. “But violating Raúl’s roof is completely different, and I _will_ come up there.”

“Goddamn it.” Iker pressed his brow to Victor’s cheek—Victor had already slumped in disappointed defeat—then pushed the other man off. “Damn it.”

“Hey.” Victor put out his hand to bar Iker’s way, then rolled his eyes. “No, we’re going down. But I just wanted—you know, thanks for bringing me, even if you were going nuts about it the whole week.”

Iker opened his mouth to reply, then just crawled back on the other man and kissed him. And kind of almost thought about forgetting Hierro downstairs, but then he heard wood creaking and got off Victor. “Damn it,” Iker said one more time. “Coming! We’re coming, damn it!”

* * *

“No, really, I’m not sure if even this all will fit in my fridge,” Iker told Raúl. He saw the next suggestion coming and vigorously shook his head. “Or Victor’s. Victor doesn’t eat when he’s stressed and we just turned in some assignments, so he’s still got your last batch in his freezer.”

At that Raúl gave up on shoving Tupperware into Iker’s arms. He stood there looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable—he’d already apologized a ridiculous number of times for the dinner disaster, but this apparently was going to be one of the epic guilt spells—before he spotted Figo in the hall. So he took himself off to make Figo eat leftovers, and Iker was going to take off as soon as he found Victor, but Hierro stepped in front of him.

“You’re not going to apologize for Villa, are you?” Iker asked. He didn’t bother to hide the weary exasperation in his voice. “Or tell me off, because okay, okay, I know I flipped out a little. Already talked to Raúl about it, got the leftover chorizo.”

The corners of Hierro’s mouth flicked up just long enough for Iker to recognize the smile. Then Hierro glanced down. He was unfolding his hands, and when Iker looked at them, he found that Hierro was offering him a bag for all the food.

After a moment, Iker began to put the containers into the bag. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if you were worried about this dinner,” Hierro said quietly. “It was never my intention to make you anxious.”

“I—I think that was mostly my fault,” Iker finally replied. He stopped shifting containers for a few seconds, then looked up at the other man. “I just…overreacted a little. I like him. And Villa gets on my nerves.”

“I’ve seen.” Another flash of amusement went over Hierro’s face. Then he sobered, and let go of one of the bag handles to touch Iker’s shoulder. “I didn’t have you over to judge either of you, Iker. I only wanted…perhaps I was a little vague about it, and that’s why you didn’t understand, but after the ghost episode, I realized I haven’t been much in your life for a while. And I’d still like to be, if you don’t mind.” 

Iker blinked. He looked down, wondered why he had things in his hands and then remembered what they were. Then he saw the bag and remembered what he was doing with the food, and finished sticking them all in the big. He took that from Hierro and finally went with a rueful laugh. “I didn’t really notice that you’d left. No…I don’t mind. I mean, Xavi can’t be there every time I need a smack on the head.”

“I don’t think you need that that often these days,” Hierro said warmly. He put his hand on Iker’s shoulder, then pulled Iker forward into a quick hug. “Well, come by my office when you like.”

“Always do,” Iker replied. He was about to add more, but a movement behind Hierro caught his eye and he spotted Victor being cornered by Guardiola and…oh, fuck, Figo. Victor did not look thrilled about it.

Thankfully, Hierro saw the same thing and apparently had knowledge of the background issues, because he pushed Iker towards Victor and immediately headed on an interception path for Figo. For all the ways it made life ridiculously complicated, having everybody know everything about each other could work in Iker’s favor sometimes.

“…with Pep and me in a few weeks. I’ve a few spare tickets, and of course we’ve booked our usual table for the prematch dinner,” Hierro was saying. “Tell Xavi he can bring someone, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Iker absently answered. He snagged Victor’s arm, gave Guardiola an apologetic nod and some bullshit about homework, and dragged them towards the front door. Victor was complaining, but also trying to see into the bag of food—one thing he had taken to without any problems was Raúl’s cooking—and so they got halfway down the walk before Iker finally realized. “Shit!”

Victor jumped in place, then grabbed at his own tie as it threatened to flap up over his head. He stared at Iker. “Jesus Christ, _what_? Don’t tell me you left something in there, because Figo—”

“I just said we’d go to El Clásico with Hierro and Guardiola!” Iker said, staring blindly in front of them. “Oh, mother of God. What the hell did I just do?”

It was quiet for a good long while, until somebody that was probably Mori shouted at them from the doorway. Victor shouted back, then was still fiddling with his tie when Iker looked at him. He glanced back at Iker, looking way too calm, and then just sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Casillas. I know I don’t have as much of a social life, but maybe we should just hang with my friends for a while.”

“Oh, God,” Iker moaned.

“Oh, fucking God, you always…come on.” Victor started pulling Iker down the walk. “Come on, let’s just go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2011.


End file.
